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QUINSIGAMOND BOAT CLUB BALCONY 



SONGS OF THE 
BOAT CLUB 




THE QUINSIGAMOND BOAT CLUB 

Worcester, Massachusetts 
1917 






17 



Copyright, 1917 

by the 

Quinsigamond Boat Club 



©GI.A477287 

I 26 1917 



FOREWORD 



The Quinsigamond Boat Club has ever mingled drama 
and song with its athletics. Some deem it an aristocratic 
organization, whereas it is one of the most democratic of 
clubs, election to its membership being by vote of all, and 
all members are equal. This rule is subject to the single 
exception that the Censor is a being before whom all other 
members bow down. His motto is noblesse oblige, so while 
he is as unassertive as a Rolls Royce with blinds, yet in 
order to put at perfect ease those about him who otherwise 
would tremble in The Presence, he often affects a jocular, 
elbow-in-rib familiarity with even the newest member that 
he may radiate that joyousness which comes to some 
mortals only as the result of alcoholic stimulation. 

For the Censor's position is indeed a lofty and difficult 
one, as he is responsible for the morals of the Club and its 
members, and it is his high privilege to admonish the erring 
and uplift the weak while dealing severely with those who 
wilfully disregard his admonitions, who criticize his fault- 
less prose and revile his random rhymes. It must be ad- 
mitted that this matter of position, of caste if you will, is 
largely one of viewpoint. 

The Mayflower descendant looks out from the screened 
and curtained panes of the Worcester Club upon the happy 
children of Palestine or Armenia as, reclining with Oriental 
hauteur in the rattling Ford or the antique Packard, they 
careen in noisy joyance along the erstwhile sacred precincts 
of the Rue d' Elm, and is quite serene. While he and many 
of his fellows trace their ancestry to that purple past which 
antedates the Emancipation Proclamation, these swarthy 
sons of the East, upon whom forty or more centuries have 
looked down, do not fully comprehend the vagaries of 
American Aristocracy, of the Sangazures and the Veneer- 
ings, and are singularly inappreciative. 

By their fruits shall ye know them and here have been 
gathered some specimen products of that superior clan 
known as the Censors. These songs have generally figured 
as part of the Censors' reports given from time to time. 
Very few antedate 1907, because of lack of available mate- 



rial. Many reports are missing. For Mr. Barton's popular 
song, of which many copies had been printed, the most 
diligent search was made. While its haunting chorus lin- 
gered in our memories, the stanzas were more elusive. The 
printer's devil was howling at the door for more copy when 
a brilliant idea struck the first Censor, which was uttered 
forthwith to the last Censor in the presence, however, of a 
Harsh Critic. The suggestion was made that as we had 
most of the poem its restoration would be easy. 

"A very simple matter!" said the first Censor. "Was 
it not Cuvier who from a single bone built up a complete 
skeleton? I have no doubt we can readily supply the few 
missing lines. Here are the remains. We have three of the 
vertebrae, the tail, part of the right wing, one dorsal fin, 
as it were, and several poetic feet which, it is true, have 
fallen arches and are, I admit, covered with literary bun- 
ions. But shall we despair? Never! Let us restore the 
Barton mastodon — I mean, masterpiece — at once!" 

Thereupon the two Censors set to work and shortly the 
first fruits of their joint genius was the following: 

"There's a club house that I know of on the shore of Lake 

Quinsig, 
O, how aged and decrepit, has false teeth and wears a wig! 
Then I know that if I only on a Lake View car could be, 
When we got to the Asylum, there's where they'd deposit 

me ! ' ' 

The two Censors gazed in poetic rapture at each other. 
"Isn't it fine?" they murmured. "Litter rot!" snorted the 
Harsh Critic. "You have no imagination," said the first 
Censor, "besides, the Lake View car does pass the Asylum 
and usually stops." "You should get off there!" urged the 
Harsh Critic. There is no knowing what would have hap- 
pened had not the debate been interrupted, for there ap- 
peared in the offing or hove in sight the familiar figure of 
the skipper of the Boat Club's flagship, the "Prickly Heat," 
holding aloft in his starboard flipper a sea-stained paper 
which proved to be the missing poem, and which is here 
presented with a number of others. 

Kind reader, be indulgent. As plays are written only to 
be played; songs are made only to be sung. So if you are 
inclined to be censorious, remember that is the sole privilege 



of the Censor; so grasp the book firmly open before you in 
the left hand, go far into the country and when beyond 
gun shot, dismiss the chauffeur, and still holding the book 
firmly in front of you at the proper distance with the left 
hand, beat time vigorously with the right and then sing the 
songs through, beginning with the first and so on through 
the book. Sing with head erect and in as loud a voice as 
possible. It is good for the lungs. But be sure to beat 
time. It is admirable exercise and is the only way you can 
do it. In this way and in this way only will you be able to 
determine just how good or how bad these songs are. 
Should you observe any one approaching, you will, of 
course, govern yourself accordingly. They may be hiding 
their weapons. Unless you find yourself outnumbered, 
turn boldly towards the intruder and sing at him before he 
gets very near, and if you persist you will find he will soon 
turn and run, but if he does not run, then you had better; 
he may be an officer who does not understand music. 

Should you survive this experience, it is to be hoped that 
you will applaud these lyric gems. You may have found 
that your rendition of them charmed the intruder away and 
perhaps saved your life. But should you find your soul 
unattuned to these happy and melodious outpourings of 
the Bards of the Boat Club as rendered by you, do not 
mention the fact in cultured circles, for several members 
have derived the greatest satisfaction and enjoyment from 
hearing themselves sing them, and your remark, strictly 
speaking, would not be de rigeur! 




1 QUINSIGAMOND 

From the Censor's Report 

By Henry Harmon Chamberlin 

August 27, 1906 

Air, "Maryland, My Maryland" 

Ere we toddle up to town, 

Homeward bound, Quinsigamond ; 
Fill the stein and drink her down 

Bumpers round, Quinsigamond! 
Sound her praises on the air, 

As her fathers found her 
Still we find her wond'rous fair 

When we gather round her. 

Here's to thee, old Q. B. C. 

Dear to each beholder ! 
Bumpers round and drink her down ! 

May she ne'er grow older ! 

Lapse of ages cannot change 

All your joys, Quinsigamond ! 
Old and young we're all the same, 

All your boys, Quinsigamond ! 
Comrades, here 'tis merry, merry cheer 

Any kind of weather ; 
And when the foam is on the beer 

We'll be boys together! 

Here's to thee, old Q. B. C. 

Dear to each beholder! 
Bumpers round and drink her down ! 

May she ne'er grow older ! 



When the sunset lingers o'er 

Spruce and pine, Quinsigamond, 
All along your silent shore 

Memories twine, Quinsigamond ! 
Welcome ! welcome to our strand, 

Time at twilight mellows ! 
Here you'll find us heart and hand 

Still the same good fellows ! 

Here's to thee, old Q. B. C. 

Dear to each beholder ! 
Bumpers round and drink her down ! 

May she ne'er grow older ! 

Sixty years ago to-night 

Thou wast born, Quinsigamond! 
Old and young put care to flight 

Till the morn, Quinsigamond! 
All who love thee honor thee 

Mid their wildest banter! 
Here's to thee, old Q. B. C. 

Phantom and Atalanta! 

Here's to thee, old Q. B. C. 

Dear to each beholder! 
Bumpers round and drink her down ! 

May she ne'er grow older! 

All you boys of yesterday, 

All you glad old comers 
O'er whose heads have flown away 

Half a hundred summers! 
All whose lives have grown more vast, 

Gone awhile before us, 
Friends, companions of the past 

Join to swell the chorus ! 

Here's to thee, etc. 

Note: The fourth stanza, originally written for the 
fiftieth anniversary, has been rewritten for the 
sexagenary . 



2 THE DEAR OLD Q. B. C. 

From the Censor's Report by George Sumner Barton, 
September 27, 1909 

Air, "Mandalay" 

There's a clubhouse that I know of on the shore of 

Lake Quinsig, 
Where it's cosy and it's homelike, best of all it's not too 

big; 
And I love to go there evenings, where I'm always sure 

to find 
A warm welcome and a respite from the irksome daily 

grind. 

Chorus 

Oh! the dear old Q. B. C, it is there I like to be, 
Where each fellow knows each other and we're one 

great family, 
Yes! We're one great family, which is what appeals to 

me, 
And I love to spend an evening at the dear old Q. B. C. 

When the worries of my business have confused my 

tired brain, 
And I'm fretful and I'm nervous and I'm suf'ring 

mental pain, 
Then I know that if I only on a Lake View car could be 
All my troubles soon would vanish at the dear old 

Q. B. C. 

Chorus 

Oh ! the dear old Q. B. C, it is there I like to be, 
Where each fellow knows each other and we're one 

great family, 
Yes! We're one great family, which is what appeals to 

me, 
And I love to spend an evening at the dear old Q. B. C. 



I am sick of wasting evenings at the other clubs in town, 

Where you see so many strangers who all greet you 
with a frown ; 

Though they all have "little parties," they're as un- 
like as can be 

To a quiet little evening at the dear old Q. B. C. 

Chorus 
Oh! the dear old O. B. C, it is there I like to be, 
Where each fellow knows each other and we're one 

great family, 
Yes ! We're one great family, which is what appeals to 

me, 
And I love to spend an evening at the dear old Q. B. C. 

Ship me down to the old Boat Club, where the best is 

like the worst, 
Where the old and young are brothers, and there's no 

one who is first; 
Where the moonbeams kiss the waters, and there's 

music in the air, 
There's no place that I know of that with it can quite 

compare. 

Chorus 



3 O, QUINSIG'S BANKS 

From the Censor's Report by 
Frank Farnum Dresser, August 28, 1911 
Air, "Auld Lang Syne" 
O, Ouinsig's banks are fresh and fair, 
And Tatnuck's woods are green. 
What is my husband doing there 
While I'm a summer queen? 
While I'm a summer queen, dear girls, 
While I'm a summer queen, 
What is my husband doing there, 
While I'ma summer queen? 
Ah, Men! 



4 My Worcester, My Quinsigamond 

From the Censor's Report, July 22, 1912, written and 
composed by Eben Francis Thompson 



When first our fathers westward ranged, a sturdy pil- 
grim band, 

Some of their stoutest pioneers sought out the Nip- 
muck land, 

And when they viewed Quinsigamond, found hill and 
vale so fair, 

They halted by her leafy shores and set their dwellings 
there. 



Chorus 

My Worcester, My Quinsigamond ! 

My homeland fair to see ! 

Round thee cling recollections fond ; 

My heart e'er turns to thee. 

Though other climes and places 

Sweet memories may recall, 

Thy dear, familiar scenes and faces 

I love best of all. 

Thy dear, familiar scenes and faces 

I love best of all ! 



Quinsigamond ! in triumph oft thy sons in days of old 

Bore swiftly o'er thy silver tide their ensign blue and 
gold; 

Then 'neath thy rooftree gathering, they joined, all 
strife at end, 

In song and feast and cheer, where friend pledged fel- 
lowship with friend. 



Chorus 

My Worcester, My Quinsigamond ! 

Thou dear old Q. B. C. 

Round thee cling recollections fond ; 

My heart e'er turns to thee. 

Though other climes and places 

Sweet memories may recall, 

Thy dear, familiar scenes and faces 

I love best of all. 

Thy dear, familiar scenes and faces 

I love best of all! 

Quinsigamond, thy children we, joint heirs to all thy 

fame, 
Will strive to emulate the sires, uphold thy honored 

name! 
We hail you, comrades living, as in the days of yore, 
Then pause to greet in memory sweet, the friends 

who've gone before. 

Chorus 



Quinsigamond, the Indian name of the Lake, was 
also applied to the ancient town of Worcester. The 
Nipmuck land was the Indian designation for a large 
part of Worcester County according to Lincoln N. 
Kinnicutt and other authorities. 



5 LET US GATHER 

From the Censor's Report, by Fordyce Turner Blake, 
July 24, 1916 

Air, "Bagdad" 

Let us gather at the Boat Club, 

Place of mirth and of delight, 

Where the old ones and the young ones 

Celebrate from morn till night. 

We can never quite forget it 

For we love it so 

And we can get together 

No matter what the weather 

If to the Q. B. C. we only go. 



6 I'VE BEEN ROWING 

Air, "I've Been Working on the Railroad" 

I've been rowing o'er the water all the livelong day 
I've been paddling in the water just to pass the time 

away. 
Don't you hear the steward calling, "Dinner's ready 

at the Club!" 
Don't you hear the waiter bawling, "Come on, and get 

your grub!" 



DOWN TO THE LAKE 
Air, "And When I Die" 

Down to the Lake I love to go 
And o'er the silvery waters row, 
Then join the boys in song and glee, 
Down at the dear old Q. B. C. 



8 A DREAM OF THE LONG AGO 

Air, "Absinthe Frappe" 

From the Censor's Report, by Eben Francis 
Thompson, September 24, 1917 

There is a place we know where we all like to be, 

At Lake Quinsigamond ; 'tis called the Q. B. C. 

For there good fellowship and best of cheer abound; 

A lovelier spot than this, I wot, will ne'er be found. 

Chorus 

On an afternoon in the month of June, 

Quit your worries and drive to the Lake ; 

Soon you'll be afloat in canoe or boat 

Or at tennis a hand you will take. 

Next you have a swim by the Lake's cool brim 

And a rest from your play or the row ; 

Then, a stein you take — and at once — you wake! 

'Twas a dream of the long ago ! 

I sit and dream as swiftly glides my boat away, 
Adown the stream where laurels gleam by Half Moon 

Bay; 
Where the lupine purples yonder bank as on we go 
To the inlet where the fragrant water lilies blow. 

Chorus 

On an afternoon in the month of June, 

Quit your worries and drive to the Lake; 

Soon you'll be afloat in canoe or boat 

Or at tennis a hand you will take. 

Next you have a swim by the Lake's cool brim 

And a rest from your play or the row ; 

Then, a stein you take — and at once — you wake! 

'Twas a dream of the long ago ! 



Quinsigamond, oft when I pass thy leafy shores, 
I catch the rhythmic of sweep Atalanta's oars; 
And oft thy sparkling moonlit waves, enrapt, I view, 
As o'er thy tide in silence glides the Phantom Crew! 

Chorus 
On an afternoon in the month of June, 
Quit your worries and drive to the Lake ; 
Soon you'll be afloat in canoe or boat 
Or at tennis a hand you will take. 
Next you have a swim by the Lake's cool brim 
And a rest from your play or the row ; 
Then, a stein you take — and at once — you wake! 
'Twas a dream of the long ago ! 

The Phantom Crew was the original organization 
of the Quinsigamond Boat Club and most of the 
members of the Atalanta Boat Club became fine 
members of the Q. B. C. 



9 THE GREAT BIG WAR CANOE 

By Henry Waldo Doe 
February, 1891 

Air, "My Mary Ann" 

Oh, have you seen the new boat? The great big war 

canoe, 
Dick Greene brought down from Canada last fall? 
She's big as all out-doors, and she takes a mighty crew. 
But they can't get headway on the craft at all. 
There's Dick and Mac and Alex, there's Barton, Ran- 

let, too, 
And Rockwood, Bates and Waldo in the sham ; 
There's eleven fellows in it, and they make a great 

to-do ; 
Not one of them can paddle worth a d — mn. 

Chorus 
She's a keel boat, she's a lap-streak 
She's an elephant, she's a sham ! 
You should see the boat when they're all afloat, 
Not one of them can paddle worth a d — mn! 



10 THAT CLUB HOUSE 

Air, "The Little, Old, Red Shawl," 
With Variations 

O, that clubhouse by the shore, I would be there ever- 
more, 

For there is where I take my exercise, my exercise ! 

O, give me my rocking chair on the club piazza, where 

I can rock and row and some day win first prize ! And 
win first prize! 

O, that clubhouse where I dine, simple fare, sans vint- 
age wine ; 

I love it for it keeps me fit and fine ! So fit and fine ! 

I get rugged, tough and strong, pushing lemonade 
along, 

For it gives strength to this good right arm of mine! 
This arm of mine ! 

O, that clubhouse by the Lake ! Where my exercise I 
take, 

Playing Bridge — without Suspension — or one break! 
One single break ! 

If you'd have a form like mine, at the Boat Club often 
dine, 

But for goodness sake, don't go out on the Lake! Up- 
on the Lake! 

There's water there ! Beware ! Beware ! ! BEWARE ! ! ! 



It has been observed that Boat Club athletics of late 
years have been becoming more and more sessile and 
prandial. 



AT . 

Lake Qainsigamond, , . . . Worcester. 

FKII>AY, JULY 28, 1865. 



First Race — " Quinsigaraiond" and " Union" Crews 

of Worcester. 

Quinsigamond. Pine Shell, built by Reed, 43 feet in 
length. Rowed by John G. Heywood (stroke,) Edwin 
Brown, Stedman Clark, Edward B. Hamilton, (bow). 
Uniform — Corn-colored Handkerchiefs, White Shiits, and 
Dark Blue Pants. 

Union. — New, Cedar Shell, built by Mackay, 43 feet in 
length. Rowed by Timothy R. Green, (stroke), Henry J. 
Temple, James L. Anthony, L. D. Thayer, (bow). Uni- 
form' — Handkkerchiefs Magenta, trimmed with white, 
White Shirts and White Pants. 

Second Race — University Boats. 

Harvard. — Frederick Crowninshield, (stroke), Edward 
T. WiUinson, VVilliam Blaikie, Edward N Fenno, Ed- 
ward H. Clark. Charles H. McBurney, (bow). Uniform — 
Crimson Handkerchiefs, White Shirts, and Blue Pants. 

Yale — Wilbur R Bacon, (stroke), Edward B. Bennett, 
Louis Stoskopf, Isaac Pierson, Edmund Coffin, William 
W. Scran ton, (bow). Uniform — Blue Silk Handkerchiefs, 
Flesh Colored Shirts, and \\ hite Drawers. 

Judges — William Woods, for Yale ; R. H. Derby, for 
Harvard. 



11 DOWN BY THE LAKE 

From the Censor's Report by Eben Francis Thomp- 
son, August 27, 1917 

Air, "Rebecca" 

Down by the Lake stand the Q. B. C. quarters, 
Down by the Lake where the sun loves to shine ; 
Happy the hours as we sped o'er the waters; 
Happiest when the Quinsig crew was first to cross the 
line. 

Chorus 

For it was — John Heywood — Edwin Brown — and Ned 

Hamilton, too, 
With — young — Sted — Clark made up that gallant 

crew; 
Year ONE— EIGHT— SIX— FIVE— I tell you, boys, 

it was fine 
When the Quinsig crew bore the gold and blue 
FIRST across the line! 

Down by Quinsigamond of ttimes I wander, 
Down by the Lake where the sun loves to shine ; 
Over the past then pensively I ponder — 
Till I think of that day when we were first to cross the 
line! 

Chorus 

For it was — John Heywood — Edwin Brown — and Ned 

Hamilton, too, 
With — young — Sted — Clark made up that gallant 

crew; 
Year ONE— EIGHT— SIX— FIVE— I tell you, boys, 

it was fine 
When the Quinsig crew bore the gold and blue 
FIRST across the line! 



Happy the days passed in thy sight, Quinsigamond ! 
Happy thy nights when the moon loves to shine! 
Sunlight or moonlight or twilight, Quinsigamond! 
Brightest was that hour when we were first to cross the 
line. 

Chorus 

For it was — John Heywood — Edwin Brown — and Ned 

Hamilton, too, 
With — young — Sted — Clark made up that gallant 

crew; 
Year ONE— EIGHT— SIX— FIVE— I tell you, boys, 

it was fine 
When the Quinsig crew bore the gold and blue 
FIRST across the line ! 

In the Citizens' Regatta of 1865, the Club colors, 
corn color (old gold) and blue, were first borne to vic- 
tory by a crew consisting of John G. Heywood 
(stroke), Edwin Brown, Stedman Clark and Edward 
B. Hamilton (bow). 




12 GOOD OLD WORCESTER TOWN 

Words and Music by Hamilton Brooks Wood 
1917 

You can sing your ditties of your modern cities, 
But I know one good New England town, 

All the girls are pretty in this little city; 
People there have no care or frown. 
Go to any other town and stay there a while 
You'll come back to good old Worcester wearing a 

smile. 
When you go to other climes 

It's then you'll want to be once more 
In dear old 

Chorus 

Worcester, that's the town I long for, 

That's where I want to be 

Friends there are dear to me, 

Friends of sincerity. 

I want to be there 

And to mingle with the boys that 

I used to know. 

It's a city of prosperity, 

Everybody has the coin and spends it free 

In Worcester, that old New England city, 

Good old Worcester town. 

Westerners all tell us we are mighty jealous 

Of people whom as friends we acquire 

May be something in it; takes more than minute 

Which out West is all they require; 

But when you can really get right under their skin 

New Englanders will stand by you thro' thick and 

thro' thin. 
That's the way with Worcester friends, 
And it's the best way after all 
In good old 



Boat Club Chorus 

Down at the 

Boat Club, that's the place I long for, 

That's where I want to be. 

Friends there are dear to me, 

Friends of sincerity. I want to 

Be there, and to mingle with the 

Boys that I used to know. 

At the Boat Club any Saturday, 
You'll see Ben or Havie raking in the clay 
At Quinsig, the only athletes' club in good old Worces- 
ter town. 




13 AMERICA 

My country! 'tis of thee, 
Sweet land of liberty, 

Of thee I sing; 
Land where my fathers died ! 
Land of the Pilgrims' pride! 
From every mountain side 

Let freedom ring! 

Our fathers' God ! to thee, 
Author of liberty, 

To thee we sing; 
Long may our land be bright 
With freedom's holy light; 
Protect us by thy might, 

Great God, our King! 



14 THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER 

Oh, say, can you see by the dawn's early light, 

What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last 
gleaming, 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the 
perilous fight, 
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly 
streaming? 
And the rocket's red glare, and bombs bursting in air, 
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still 

there ! 
Oh! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? 




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